


Crouch, Touch, Pause, Engage

by PinguMew98



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinguMew98/pseuds/PinguMew98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana, wandering the streets of New York City, discovers something she has never witnessed before. Enticed and curious, Santana learns to play rugby, re-directing her focus from her downward spiral. Rated M for language and eventually adult themes of self-destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It happened one day; walking home, past the small patch of green that existed in the concrete jungle. However, the green was not so much green as brown with green clods punctuating the churned ground. There was something enticing, intoxicating, as Santana stared at the women running with a ball. The woman had a beautiful stride, muscles straining to carry her faster, a fierce look of determination on her face, rarely seen amidst the solemn resignation of the masses of thronging pedestrians in New York City. What was more mesmerizing was another women running from seemingly nowhere, crashing into the running woman, lifting her slightly before driving her body into the ground. Santana assumed it was a full-contact football game. But evidently it was not since the woman that was tackled, before hitting the ground, flipped the ball into the air. A third woman sprinted by, catching the squat ball and running a few feet before sliding on her chest.

With the action arrested, Santana's trance was broken. She had no idea what she had just witnessed; all she comprehended was how beautiful it all was. The last time she had marveled at the sheer spectacle that was the human body was when she watched Brittany dance, and that was so long ago. No, this brutish and boorish spectacle she had just been a part of was, inexplicably poetic.

The girl that had dove on the ground was now standing, brushing off the front of her shirt, having no effect on the green/brown stain. "Great end to practice!" a slightly overweight woman materialized, clapping her hands and jovially patting women near her on their backs. A handful of girls were crowded around, what Santana could only assume was the coach, talking quietly amongst themselves. She heard the pack of women yell a word and start their trudge to a set of bleachers. Santana started walking past, keeping her eyes on this team playing a completely foreign game. There was a young woman sitting on the bleachers holding, what appeared to Santana, to be a beer. The third girl, who had slid on her front, was now moving to the woman on the bleachers. She leaned in for a kiss, taking the beer.

Santana increased her pace to reach home, feeling somewhat embarrassed. She could not quite put her finger on why. It seemed to have stemmed from the two women kissing. But why should she be embarrassed? She liked girls, but she could not quite accept the whole, publicly out-and-proud image. Glee club was a safe zone. But even when she was at college, she could not quite be out and proud. The only reason she could pretend was when she vindictively went after Brittney, and that was because it was in the safety of the Glee room. Instead of dwelling on all the drastic actions she had taken to get back at Brittney, she thought back to what she had witnessed. The eloquence of the brutish looking sport had stirred her. "I would be so good at fucking people up." She thought to herself. There was many a time where Santana had wished to react physically rather than verbally. Perhaps getting some her physical aggression out might make her feel her less...less something that she could not put her finger on. "Let's face it," Santana thought "I'd be great at a sport like that, plus I am in some great shape. Can't be a cheerleader without some killer legs."  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Santana arrived back at the apartment. Rachel had not returned from school; with her audition impending, she spent inordinate amounts of time practicing at school. Kurt was cuddling with Adam on the couch, watching something Santana did not care about.

"You're back later than normal." Kurt commented from the couch.

"And you're keeping pretty close tabs on me there single white female," Santana responded as she slid the door shut.

Kurt ignored her retort, now use to the uncouth manner in which she spoke. "Seriously Santana," (Rachel and Kurt had tried to call her 'San' once and after Santana's explosion, they settled on simply calling her Santana), "What took you so long to get home?"

Santana sighed at Kurt's persistence. She loved the gay boy to death, he was family after all now, but he poked around like...well, she did. Rather than replying, Santana continued her routine of making her dinner of Top Ramen ("it says Top so it has to be the best"). "I saw some women playing a weird version of football at the park down the street. I watched for a bit."

Adam turned to look at Santana. "American football or normal football?"

Santana stopped stirring her ramen to look at the Brit in the fashion that would imply you had a penis drawn on your face. "What the hell is 'normal football'?" Santana even made finger quotes when she said 'normal football.'

"Oh, what do you blokes call it again? Right, soccer."

Santana returned to her cooking, "Normal football. Not soccer." Soccer was one part of her Hispanic heritage she could not get into.

"Well, I did hear there was a women's rugby football club forming up around here. It's probably them." Adam said as he resettled himself on the couch.

"I'm sorry Oliver Twist. Women's what football?"

Kurt groaned loudly. He hated sports. He hated even more that every man that has entered his life held a great love for it.

"Hush Lady Hummel. I'm trying to hear what Oliver Twist is telling me. Please sir, can you explain some more?" Santana quipped.

"Rugby. It's like American football but with no pads and no stopping." Adam replied. So rarely was he given a chance to talk about sports that interested him that he did not even care that Kurt was fuming. "The game is big in every civilized place. In fact, the 6 Nations games just ended. Bloody Irish women dethroned the English women this year."

"Slow down there Twist." Santana said, hanging on Adam's explanation. "What the hell is this…Six Nation games?"

"It's an international completion in Europe. There are various levels in rugby union. Let's see, there's England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Italy, and France." Adam replied. Kurt made exasperated noises from the end of the couch, in hopes that the pair would quit talking sports.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
"Thank god you're home Rachel." Kurt ran over to her the minute she walked in. "Santana found some weird sport from England and she stole Adam away."  
Rachel hung her jacket up. "Adam likes sports?" she asked.

"Apparently he LOVES rugby. Something about hunky guys with scars. I don't know. But Santana stole him away to talk about this sport." Kurt replied. "Can we please watch a musical of some such so I don't have to listen to anymore sports talk?" Kurt grabbed Rachel hand was dragging her towards the tv. Rachel could see Adam and Santana huddled around the table, in rapt conversation. Feeling bad for her roommate, she relented to watch "Funny Girl" for the millionth time; she might as well work on for her audition while she was at it.


	2. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note-Rugby is awesome. This chapter, in particular, is for all my dear friends on all my rugby teams. Especially for every Liz who seems to exist on every rugby team to explain rugby to new joins, and who all seem to universally explain it like American football.
> 
> Disclaimer-Don’t own Glee.

Santana was nervous. She hung around the park, fifteen minutes before when practice was supposed to start. Sitting on the bleachers, she tapped her foot, looking around for any sign of life. Adam had advised her to wear close fitting clothes and something you would not care if it got ripped to shreds. Why was she so nervous? “I was a Division I cheerleader.” She reminded herself. “I use to have two-a-day practices for hours. I am in great shape.” But she was still nervous. 

“Hey there!” Santana’s head shot up. She had been so absorbed in pumping herself up she had not the other women walk up beside her. “You coming by to play some rugby?” The woman smiled broadly. “We always love new players.” 

“Um,” Santana started. The pleasant feeling the women exuded was, different than what she had expected. From Adam’s description and from the practice she had witnessed, she did not expect the individuals to be so, perky. It was the same feeling like the Glee kids back in high school, just not as creepy, obsessive, and domineering. “Ya. I saw you guys playing a couple days ago. Thought it looked like fun.” Santana finished. 

The woman was pulling her shoes off and pulling on a knee length pair of socks and cleats. “Cool. You ever play rugby before?” She began adorning her other leg in a similar fashion. 

“No, but a friend of mine from England explained it to me some.” Santana felt awkward since she did not have cleats, or anything other than herself.   
“Well, I’m Liz.” Liz held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” Tentatively Santana took the woman’s hand. “It seems it’ll be a while till the other ruggers get here. If you want, I can show you some things...I’m sorry, I never asked your name?” 

“Santana.”   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Liz stood off on the side of the “pitch” (“That’s the field. It’s slightly longer and wider than a football field.”) and explained the dynamics of the game to Santana. (“That girl back there is kinda like the safety/running back/kicker in football. And that one, she’s kinda like a quarterback and linebacker.”) Santana silently thanked Adam for at least starting to teach her about this sport since it was all a bit complicated. She quickly realized that, while she did have some strength, she did not have the endurance required. Making a mental note of adding a morning run to her daily schedule, Santana worked her ass off trying to complete the complex drills.

Her favorite thing was tackling. After her first one, nearing the end of practice, the coach started yelling. “NOW THAT’S A TACKLE! FUCKING TEXTBOOK!” Santana smiled to herself. It had been a long time in a sport that her coach seemed excited about her actions. At Louisville, her coach was similar to Sue; negative reinforcement. But that first tackle, it was a feeling of elation. Though she quickly realized you can never rest on your laurels in rugby, because as she slowly got up, feeling proud about herself, the ball had traversed to the opposite end of the pitch.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“How old are you?” Liz asked as she pulled her cleats off and was changing back into her normal shoes. 

“Why do you ask?” Santana asked, slightly more defensively than she had intended. 

“Slow your roll girl.” Liz laughed “When you play rugby you need be covered by rugby insurance. It’s called getting CIPPed and you have to be at least 18. Though the only people who get defensive about that question are people that are over 18 but younger than 21.” 

“I’m 25 actually.” Santana replied. 

“Sure you are. And where’s your license from?” Liz laughed again. “Seriously girl, I was in college at one point. We all were; we’ve seen our share of fakes. The girls here don’t care so long as you’re not in high school. A couple of the moms here would be upset about that since they would automatically associate you with their kids. Normally we go out to a bar after practices. Occasionally we have weekend rugby events. Come by this address tomorrow night.” Liz scribbled an address down on a piece of paper. “We’re having our inaugural rugby event tomorrow. You should come.”

Santana took the piece of paper. “Thanks Liz.” was all she managed to reply. She was a bit embarrassed about trying to claim she was 25.   
Liz studied her for a bit. “You got your fake?” Santana nodded. “Right-o. Come with us to the bar. At the very least you can meet some of the girls.”   
Santana smiled. “Sure.” For the first time in a long time, Santana felt like part of a community. At that moment, Brittany’s words from when she decided to move to New York came back to her. _“Why shouldn’t you get the chance to be around people who are like you? Appreciate you? Be part of a community.”_ While the memory brought Santana heartache, she smiled nonetheless.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Alaska?” a women whom everyone called ‘Peaches,’ said as she pulled the ID out of Santana’s hand. “Oh god. Gotta love this picture too!” Santana looked around as the ID was passed around the table. The women took turns looking at the picture and laughing. 

“Jesus, I remember the first time I went into a bar underage. I didn’t know how to get a fake, so I borrowed my friend’s.” someone called ‘Last Night’ recalled. 

“I’m sorry.” Santana started, “So do all you guys have nicknames?” Of the five women at the table, the only person she knew the real name was Liz. 

“Oh to be a rugby virgin again.” a women called ‘A-K’ sighed. 

“Some rugby clubs bestow rugby nicknames to their members. All of these bitches kept their names from college.” Liz explained. “My college did not have that tradition so I humbly remain, Liz.” She bowed slightly as the other girls clapped mildly.

“So virgin,” A-K started, “Tell us about yourself.” It wasn’t so much a question but a demand. Santana took a long swig of her beer, making a mental note not to buy something so dark and chalky. 

“Well, I’m from Ohio. I was at the University of Louisville on scholarship for cheerleading.” Santana seemed uneasy. 

“Shit girl.” Last Night started, “D-1. That’s impressive. So how in the name of God did you end up here in New York?” 

Santana had expected a much different reaction. These women physically threw their bodies, full sprint, into each other. They had regaled her with tales of their most epic injuries. For some reason she did not feel like cheerleading would ever cause a blip on their radars. “I…was…” Santana didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know. I didn’t have any fun and the other girls didn’t like my attitude.” 

“Fuckers.” A-K said and she slammed her glass back down on to the table, motioning for another. 

“Why New York though hun?” Peaches asked, her beer barely touched. All eyes were focused on her. 

“Um…I wanted to…” Why was it so hard to admit that she wanted to be a famous singer like all the other Glee nerds? The idea hadn’t seemed so preposterous when she left Lima. But now, saying that in front of four fully grown women, sounded so childish. “Follow my dreams to be a singer.” She finished somewhat lamely.

“I can understand wanting to leave Ohio and going to the glorious city of dreams.” Last Night started. 

“That’s Philly…” Liz corrected. 

“No. Philly is the city of brotherly love.” Peaches sighed. 

“GAY!” was all A-K yelled. 

“This is all beside the point.” Last Night said loudly, trying to ignore A-K’s giggling. “I can even understand leaving a sports team, especially at that level, if you don’t love it. I mean, you have to love the sport to play it at that level. What I’m getting at is that, you’re just outta high school. You haven’t experienced the world. Maybe you’ll become a famous singer. But high schoolers can’t see past what they see on tv. Not everyone is famous singer or professional athlete. Life is about channeling your passions. I mean, with music you could do music therapy for disabled kids. Or, how do you know singing is your ultimate passion?”

Santana was irritated. These women didn’t know her. How could they make a judgment about her decisions? She felt belittled by being associated as a “high schooler.” She was quite clearly an adult now. 

“Seems like you’ve pissed her off with your little speech there Last Night.” Liz said trying to drink her water, but only managed to spill it down her front as she snorted at the obvious irritation on Santana’s face. 

“What I believe Last Night was trying to convey dear,” Peaches said resting her hand on Santana’s forearm. “Is that you feel like an adult. But hun, you’re not. You’re still young and have time to find your place. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” 

“With your legs you could be a sports reporter.” A-K said, giving Santana a wink. Santana forgot her irritation to glare at A-K. It was the first time someone had been so blatantly open about liking other women. I mean, she knew the chick at Louisville was checking her out, but she didn’t feel like she was screaming ‘I’M A LESBIAN!’

‘Look what you’ve done A-K.” Last Night said, punching the women playfully in the shoulder, “You’ve made another one fall for you.” 

A-K just smiled and raised her left hand. “Sorry darling, taken. I’m sure you don’t have too many homos in Ohio, but I’m gay as the day is long. Nothing I can do about that.”

“No its…I’m…I’ve had plenty of gay friends.” Her words were all jumbled. This was an entirely new concept for Santana. 

“We have some girls that identify as queer on our team.” Liz begin. 

“Fucking homos…they’re the reason we can’t have anything nice.” A-K said as she polished off her third beer. “Gotta run. Wife’s expecting me soon.” A-K left her share of the bill and headed out. 

“Don’t mind her hun.” Peaches again. “She’s just happy she can be out. So she’s out, and really proud about it.” Santana only spun further into confusion. 

“Why couldn’t she be out?” 

“A-K is in the military. Hence the nickname, A-K, like the gun.” Last Night explained. “She spent a fair few years in forced silence and, as you can tell, she’s pretty obviously gay. So she spent the early part of her career worried sick that she would lose her job.”

“That being said, it’s getting late. We should head home.” Liz stated, looking at her watch. 

Before she could stop herself Santana blurted, “So is rugby a bunch of lezies?” The three remaining women laughed. 

“I’d say about half.” Liz said. “But it’s not really a big deal. So long as you can hit as well as you can.” 

“Well, you can add one more to the ‘batting for the other team’ to your guys’ team.” Santana stated far more comfortably than she felt about declaring herself to new people. She felt like she could trust these women. And lord knows they could hold their own. 

“Glad you joined the team” was the response.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Santana slid the door of the apartment shut as she stumbled around, attempting to maintain some semblance of being quiet. “Where the hell have you been?” Santana froze, as though she was a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“Um…” The alcohol coursing through her veins had slowed her response time. Standing up straight she turned to face her accusers. “I have been…working…late…” Santana was grasping at straws, hoping that her roommates could accept that her sketchy job as a cage dancer was sufficiently lewd to suggest unexpectantly long evenings. 

“Seriously Santana.” Rachel stood from the couch. “We’ve been worried sick about you and all you can say is ‘I’m working late?’” Santana swayed in her place, trying to focus on a spot directly behind Rachel so as not to fall her face. 

“Yes…and now I go to bed.” Santana replied as she hurrying ran for the safety of her room, wobbling the whole way.

Waking up with such a headache, Santana groggily searched for a glass of water. “ugh…” was the only noise she could manage from her pounding headache. As she shuffled out of bed, she was greeted by the perpetually happy duo of Rachel and Kurt. The two fell silent as they noticed Santana. 

“Have a good night?” Kurt asked, looking at the Latina expectantly. 

“Ya…made good tips last night…gotta make some dough shaking my groove thang.” Santana popped two Ibuprofen into her mouth as she downed a glass of water.


	3. Pause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday is a rugby day. So a rugby party is hard to convey with words so, please bear with me; this is rugby drinking culture in a nut shell and trying to condense it down is daunting and difficult. In reality, you just need to experience the joy of watching someone else ‘shoot the boot’ after they commit the carnal sin of messing up a rugby song.

Santana kept checking her phone. She found herself looking up at a regular, quite innocuous house. Doubling checking the address on the piece of with the address she was in front of, there was no doubt this was it. Taking a deep breathe, Santana walked up the stairs and rapped on the door. No one answered. She knocked again, a little louder this time. The door gave way. “Hello?” Santana asked, leaning her head inside. Music came blaring from somewhere deep in the house. Looking around, she stepped inside.

“Oh hey rook! Glad you could make it!” a girl named Jamie said. “The party’s just getting started.” Santana followed the women back into an expansive kitchen, littered with cans of beer, bottles of wine, and even some classy liquor Santana hadn’t even heard of. Picking up the lightest beer she could find she joined the gaggle of women laughing and chatting.

“Virgin in the house!” A-K yelled from behind Santana. Laughing the women threw an arm around her. “Virgin. I’d like you to meet my wife.” A-K turned wheeled her about to be met with open air. 

“As I thought GI Jane,” (as always, Santana thought of some nickname of her own with every person she met) “you’re married to a bottle of Guinness. Either that or your moves are so bad they literally chased everyone away.” Santana silently chided herself. This kind of talk was exactly the reason that all the girls on her cheerleading team detested her. Instead, riotous laughter erupted, led by none other than A-K herself. 

“I guess I did marry Guinness-dark and like a kick to the head in the morning.” A-K managed to get out between her laughs. Before Santana knew what was happening, the other rugby girls were ribbing each other in much the same fashion as Santana. For the first time, the Latina didn’t feel the need to change herself for others to find her pleasant. Well, not the first time, but Santana wasn’t around anymore.

“MONDAY’S A WORKING DAY!” Already bewildered by the enjoyment of her jabs, Santana was downright confused when the singing broke out, as though she was back at high school when the Glee club broke into song and dance. Since Glee club had sung some many random songs, she had gone out of her way to learn the words to songs she could assume the Glee club would engage in. More than feeling embarrassed, Santana hated not knowing the words to the song, because she would be left to dance backup, and Santana Lopez was not a backup for anyone. Thankfully, she realized, this was a call and response song, so she wasn’t left out. 

“HOW’S YOUR MOM?” the lead girl shouted.  
“ALL RIGHT!” came the response.  
“HOW’S YOUR SISTER?”  
“TOO TIGHT!”  
“WHEN’S YOUR LAST ONE?”  
“LAST NIGHT!” The girls held their beers towards Last Night as she bowed.  
“WHEN’S YOUR NEXT ONE?”  
“TONIGHT!”  
“IS EVERYBODY FEELING FINE?” Suddenly the girls placed their beers on their foreheads as they twirled in a small circle.  
“YOU BET YOUR ASS WE’RE FINE!” 

This chorus seemed to go through the whole week. Monday is for working. Tuesday’s for drinking. Wednesday’s for puking. Thursday’s for (Santana realized that there was no response but rather, an obscene gesture for the singer’s preference in oral sex). Friday was for fucking. And Saturday, Saturday was a rugby day.

Liz stood up on a chair. Santana assumed she would give some sort of speech but instead another song began. “If I was the marrying kind. And thank the lord I’m not sir. The kind of rugger I’d be would be a rugby…” All the girls held their elbows parallel to the floor, as though they were doing some sort of weird modified hand raise. Liz pointed to Peaches. 

“Prop, sir.” Liz looked confused.  
“Prop sir. But why sir?”  
Peaches replied, “’Cause I’d support hookers and you’d support hookers and we’d all support hookers together. We’d be all right in the middle of the night, supporting hookers together.” 

This elbow hand raise went up again, this time with Peaches pointing to Last Night and her declaring that she’d be a rugby lock. Because she’d grab crotch and Santana would grab crotch and that, in fact, they’d all grab crotch, together. And somehow that would be all right, if they all grabbed crotch together. They got around to Jamie (the women how had spoken to her at the beginning of the party) but when she went to declare what kind of rugger she’d be, she messed up the words.

All hell seemed to break loose. There was an immediate chat amongst all the rugby girls. Santana looked around, trying to make sense of the words. ‘Shoot the boot?’ Santana prayed there were no fire arms around since she could not see why a drunk person should ever be in possession of a fire arm. A cleat was brandished. Not just any cleat though; a mangy, dirty, filthy, torn apart cleat was held aloft as a pitcher of beer was emptied into it.  
Chats of “We’re waiting, we’re waiting, we’d rather be masterbating” filled the room as Jamie chugged the beer from the vile cleat. Once finished, Jamie slammed the cleat to the ground in a triumphant gesture of victory.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night was a blur. In fact, when Santana awoke in her apartment room, she had no recollection of how she had arrived there. “Feeling better Santana?”

Santana poured herself a large glass of water as Kurt and Rachel eyed her from the kitchen table. “Fabulous.”

“Who was it who dropped you off this morning?” Rachel asked, attempting to be nonchalant. 

“The fuck if I remember their names. They’re all weird names like, Peaches and Last Night and Craddlerobber and Daphne.” Santana was pretty sure she had  
made up the last two but that wasn’t the point.

“Santana, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about your employment at a location that requires such…unique, stage names.” Kurt began.

“God Lady Hummel.” Santana groaned, rubbing her temples as she sat down at the table with her roommates. “For a closeted gay from Ohio who could only find himself in the fucking Glee club at high school, you’re pretty judgmental.”

Kurt bristled. “I think what Kurt was trying to say was, the lady that dropped you off this morning was of the, unsavory type.”

Santana squinted, as though if being able to see through her pulsating headache would help her remember. “Unsavory…that sounds like A-K. Why in the name of god would A-K help me home?”

“A…K?” Rachel repeated quizzically, giving Kurt a sideways glance. He just shrugged. 

“Yeah prima donna, A-K. Like the gun.” Santana groaned, resting her heavy head in her hand. She was desperately trying to make sense of A-K bringing her home or grasp onto any fleeting memory.

“Well, she was not pleasant. She smelt of liquor and had the most inappropriate language.” Rachel continued. “She just waltzed into our home like she owned the place, you were literally draped over her shoulder like a dead body.”

“When we asked her who she was and what she was doing in her home she said something to the effect of: ‘Fuck off tightwad and bring me some goddamn fucking water.’ Then she placed you on your bed…” Kurt trailed off, seemingly unwilling to tell the rest of the story.

The Latina didn’t notice though.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written in a while…unlike a lot of stories that I have percolating for a while, this one came to me to suddenly, like the first tackle in a game. Hadn't been motivated to write Brittana because, I, for the life of me, can't get Brittney down. However, writing this bitch out for a bit, it might come to me. I also started writing this at the beginning of the season so, it'll deviate from canon but I'm going to try and fit it in if it kills me. The titles are based on the old rugby scrum cadence. Basically I desperately want Glee to not be as obnoxious to me so I figured by making Santana a rugby player, I could do it.


End file.
